


Ianto's Revenge

by Dustbunnygirl



Series: Revenge Series [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-24
Updated: 2008-03-24
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:04:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8007298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dustbunnygirl/pseuds/Dustbunnygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title: Ianto's Revenge,4 of 10<br/>Prompt:Hidden from the world, "the 10s" challenge.<br/>Fandom: Torchwood<br/>Pairing: Jack/Ianto<br/>Rating: Hard R-NC17 (I'd rather rate a little high than a little low)<br/>Word count: 1,793<br/>Warnings/Notes: Set between 2.02 "Sleepers" and 2.03 "To the Last Man." Mild spoilers for 2.02. Sequel to Shivers Down My Spine. <br/>Disclaimer: I own nothing. I’ve borrowed my toys from Auntie Beeb and Uncle Rusty’s toy box and fully plan on eventually giving them back someday, when I’m tired of them. Won't be my fault if they're a little broken.<br/>Summary “If you don’t get out of here in about two seconds, Gwen, I hold no responsibility for your mental trauma.”</p>
    </blockquote>





	Ianto's Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Ianto's Revenge,4 of 10  
> Prompt:Hidden from the world, "the 10s" challenge.  
> Fandom: Torchwood  
> Pairing: Jack/Ianto  
> Rating: Hard R-NC17 (I'd rather rate a little high than a little low)  
> Word count: 1,793  
> Warnings/Notes: Set between 2.02 "Sleepers" and 2.03 "To the Last Man." Mild spoilers for 2.02. Sequel to Shivers Down My Spine.   
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. I’ve borrowed my toys from Auntie Beeb and Uncle Rusty’s toy box and fully plan on eventually giving them back someday, when I’m tired of them. Won't be my fault if they're a little broken.  
> Summary “If you don’t get out of here in about two seconds, Gwen, I hold no responsibility for your mental trauma.”

“Long day?”

Ianto leans in the doorway to Jack’s office, tie askew, waistcoat unbuttoned, as uncharacteristically mussed as the Welshman ever allows himself to look at work. As much as Jack enjoys the buttoned up exterior, enjoys letting his mind wander to the time and care he would take to undo every button, wrinkle every inch of the perfectly pressed suits, he loves the unkempt disarray more. It’s outward proof that, somewhere deep down inside, his pretty little archivist is as much a mess as the rest of them are and he finds odd comfort in that. 

A grin slips past Jack’s exhaustion, turning wicked as he lets his eyes wander Ianto’s body from the tips of his high-polished shoes to the top of his carefully coiffed head. “Little bit, but it’s looking up now,” the Captain says, pushing the collection of file folders on his desk aside. 

“Had the General on the phone quite awhile.” Ianto stands still but smiling throughout the Captain’s perusal, not yet moving from his spot half in, half out of the office. Straddling that fine line between work and play when all Jack can think about is having him straddling his…“Got a bit loud once or twice. Heard you all the way to the conference room.”

“Hmmm?” 

Ianto grins wide, knowing, as if every word traveling through Jack’s head is so easily read across his face. “The conversation with the General. Got a bit loud there.”

“You know how Her Majesty’s military can get. Doesn’t think it has to share its toys or its information.” Jack shrugs. “Took ‘em two weeks to get back to me and tell me their keeping a stash of nukes under Cardiff isn’t Torchwood business. Don’t think they’re too happy that we had to save their ass from getting all of Europe blown to pieces.”

“Not too happy to owe us one, as it were.” The Welshman pushes off the door with an effortless shift, crossing the floor and rounding Jack’s desk with unhurried strides. Reminds Jack of a lion on the prowl and he’s not sure whether, in that moment, he likes feeling like the wounded zebra about to be had for lunch.

Oh, who’s he kidding? Of course he likes it.

When Ianto slides behind Jack’s chair, fingers digging into the leather, lips and breath both a teasing caress at the Captain’s ear, Jack shudders. “You’re too tense, sir,” Ianto whispers and the thick growl of emphasis put into that last word is suddenly the dirtiest thing Jack’s ever heard. “Shall we do something about that, then?”

Jack can only nod. His eyelids droop as Ianto’s hands slide free of the leather and press instead into the tight muscle of the Captain’s shoulders. Even if all the wicked look and teasing growl are going to earn him is a shoulder rub fit to work him into a desire-fueled knot, he’ll take it. And then give as good as he gets later, when the team isn’t just beyond the open office door. 

So he’s surprised when the hands on his shoulders grip and pull, edging him and the chair back from the desk. He’s even more surprised when Ianto’s hands leave him entirely and heavy-lidded eyes find the young archivist standing between his knees instead. Kneeling between his knees, urging them further apart with a hand on each thigh and a look the Devil himself would shrink back from in his eyes.

“Ianto?” Jack’s eyebrow quirks on his forehead like the curl of the question mark evident in his voice.

“Cardiff’s biggest exhibitionist is suddenly shy?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m the biggest…”

“We’ve been banned from two pubs, a grocery store, and the Millennium Centre. In the last month.”

“Hey, the Millennium Centre was your idea.”

“Yes, and so’s this.” Ianto’s fingers reach for the button of Jack’s fly, grazing the prominent bulge growing against the zipper. “And you don’t seem to be against the idea much either.”

“Hey, I’m only human. Sort of.” The protests, which were weak enough to be nonexistent to begin with, turn breathy and gasping. Only more so when zipper teeth part and Ianto’s fingers wrap around his cock. “Should at least close the door…”

“And give them more reason to think something’s going on?” Ianto shakes his head and lets his hand travel Jack’s length in slow, agonizing tease as he slides back into the shadows beneath the desk. “No, we’ll leave it open instead. Give the illusion of propriety.” Lecherous intent nearly drips from the last word, turning it instantly, ironically dirty. Jack knows, as he eases the chair forward until Ianto’s once again settled between the lewd spread of his thighs, that he won’t ever be able to hear it again without his pulse jumping.

There’s no warning – one minute its agile fingers stroking, teasing; next it’s a warm mouth and equally agile tongue and Jack has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back the moan threatening to rip free. His fingers dig into the chair arms, biting into the old leather and metal as blunt fingernails try to bury themselves in the upholstery. One hand pries itself free, tries to bury itself instead in the Welshman’s hair, but gets slapped away, grabbed by an impatient hand and relocated to the desktop with firm pressure. Jack gets the message, even though all the blood has since left his brain, and grips the edge of the desk instead. 

“Should’ve said we were playing another round of ‘Jack no touchy’,” he says, voice strained and breathless and thick with need. “Could’ve got out the handcuffs, maybe the…”

Three sharp raps on the office’s open door bring Jack’s suggestion to a halt and send a cold rush of panic – followed by a twisted edge of hot desire – straight down his spine. “Don’t mean to interrupt your babbling to yourself, Jack,” Gwen says from the doorway, half a smirk fighting its way across her lips, “but you said you wanted to see me before I left for the night?”

“I did?” Jack stretched an unsteady hand across his desk for the mouse, giving it a shake to bring his monitor back to life. He couldn’t remember asking Gwen to stop by. Of course, when Ianto’s tongue did that he couldn’t usually remember his name…

“Something about a quarterly performance review. New policy, you said.” Without waiting for an invitation Gwen steps on inside, claiming the chair at the other side of the desk, seemingly unaware of every lewd swirl and stroke of Ianto’s tongue on Jack’s cock less than a foot away. 

“Did I?” He’s getting close, can feel sweet oblivion waiting just beyond reach but getting nearer with every delicious, agonizing second. “Must’ve forgotten. Maybe we should reschedule when I’m not-“ getting his brains sucked out through his cock “-so out of it?”

“No, you said it definitely had to be tonight. Said you’d been putting it off and the paperwork’s come due. ‘Don’t let me try to shove it off’, you said.” Gwen’s eyes narrow with concern and she leans across the desk, a hand pressed to Jack’s sweat-damp forehead. “You do look a little flushed.”

Jack flinches back from the concerned touch. “S’just a little warm in here, that’s all.” It takes him longer than it should to pull up his calendar; he forgets twice what he’s doing and mentally curses the man currently treating his dick like an all day sucker. When he gets the calendar open, he can’t believe what he sees there – 6:30. Meet with Gwen. Then he sees who put the appointment on his calendar in the first place – I. Jones. Seeing a note attached to the appointment, Jack double clicks it, almost growling when he reads the one-word message.

Gotcha.

“Oh you sadistic son of a…” The lips stretched wide over his throbbing cock twitch at the rough murmur. Ianto’s muffled laughter sends unsteadying vibrations from base to tip and back again. Jack’s hips buck up from the chair in automatic response, held down by firm hands that don’t let them go far. So close now. If he doesn’t get a handle on things, Gwen’s going to get a show she hadn’t anticipated. Think calm things. Disturbing things. Winston Churchill skinny dipping. Bull castration. Owen gleefully rooting around in some poor creature’s insides. “Look, Gwen, I…”

“I realize, with Beth, that I…” It’s that moment, as Gwen starts explaining and apologizing, that Jack feels what has to be at least four hundred teeth – though it’s probably just the standard number – scrape from base to tip and back again, hard enough to be felt, to send sharp, electric pulses of sensation and heat along every single one of his nerves. It ‘s just this side of too much, verging on the almost painful but riding that edge with expert, agonizing skill. Jack’s fingers grip the edge of the desk so hard he’s sure the wood will splinter any second. The hands at his hips can barely keep him against the chair. “Am I in trouble, Jack?”

“Yessss,” he hisses before his brain can grasp the woman’s continued presence. When the former police officer draws in a shocked sigh Jack tries to focus his eyes again, tries to get a grip on what fragile piece of control he has. “No, Gwen, it’s not…I…I…” He has seconds; can feel it brimming, sees white gathering behind his eyes and his heart about to explode in his chest. “If you don’t get out of here in about two seconds, Gwen, I hold no responsibility for your mental trauma.”

“Jack?”

“GO!”

Gwen doesn’t hesitate, pushing out of the chair and exiting the office a split second before Jack comes with a throat-ripping scream.

A minute later - or maybe it’s ten, Jack’s lost all track of time and isn’t entirely positive he didn’t black out just for a bit – Ianto urges the chair back from the desk and crawls out of his dark hiding place, a gentling hand on each of Jack’s thighs. The Welshman’s lips are obscenely swollen and stretched into a dictionary-perfect self satisfied smirk. Jack notices that sometime in that lost and fuzzy moment-or-moments he’s been tucked innocently back into his trousers.

“And what have we learned today?” Ianto asks, far too much formality in his voice, considering he just sucked his boss near to death under his desk.

“That you’re an evil bastard?” Jack’s surprised to hear how wrecked he still sounds, hoarse and breathless and spent.

“And?”

“And that you’re not above ensnaring your innocent co-workers in your twisted schemes.”

Ianto grins. “And?”

“And that I should always shut the CCTV off if I want to have my wicked way with you in the office.”

“Bright boy.”


End file.
